When it comes to the farthest reaches of improvised music, solo saxophone
sessions are no longer a novelty. Pioneers such as American Anthony
Braxton and John Butcher and Evan Parker from Great Britain have furrowed
the ground to such an extent that young saxists attempting a singular
effort can only hope to attain some sort of attention rather than
major breakthroughs. Both French soprano saxophonist Stéphane
Rives and Japanese alto saxophonist Masahiko Okura acquit themselves
admirably on their recent releases. However, in retrospect Okura's
Solo (Hibari Music) may draw more adherents than Rives' Fibres
(Potlatch).

With his admixture of microtones and vibrating air, Rives, whose work
posits a unique acoustic-concrète interface, definitely
creates the more original output on the seven selections on his disc.
But with the total program running to a nearly exhausting more than
59 minutes, the little more than 29 minutes on Okura's single track
become more palatable. Furthermore, since Solo isn't exclusively
reductionist and offers rhythmic variety when the saxman literally
blows into a bass tube to spell his reed work, the careful listener
experiences more emotions than mute admiration.

Not that
there isn't much to admire from Rives, a member of Parisian Improvisers
Collective Ivraie, who has adapted the influences of Butcher, Parker
and fellow Frenchman Michel Doneda to produce grainy and textural,
nearly imperceptible sounds here. His extended showpiece unrolls on
the 18+-minute "Larsen et le roseau #2". "Le roseau" is
reed, but the identity of Larsen is open to conjuncture. Starting
with a shrill, relentless single pitch, Rives soon introduces rippling
harmonics at the very top of the saxophone's range. One-third of the
way through, his gyrating overtones turn more rounded and less strident,
but they're soon succeeded by resonation within the body tube that
becomes increasingly muted. Eventually the single tone expands, picking
up harmonic overtones along the way, hardens and then dissolves into
single note explorations. As he blows harder, a secondary growl arises
then becomes a squealing whistle until it too fades. "Ébranlement
#2"loose translation: "shaking"follows this,
almost three minutes of strained, high-energy pitches that take on
aviary-like qualities and seem to be played without the saxman touching
the keys.

On other tracks, such as the 13+-minute "Granulations #1"loose
translation: "grainy"there's no doubt that Rives is
dealing with the parameters of what is after all, a metal tube. Pure
air forced through the shaft creates barely heard chirruped froth
and reedy whistles. Moving into false registers, ghost notes irregularly
vibrate from the gooseneck producing bubbling fish tank or wind tunnel
sounds, rattling at their most metallic.

There's no denying Rives' skills that often extend circular breathing
to boundaries past where others such as Parker have traveled, or strain
triple-tonguing into murmuring multiphonics. His sibilant vibrations,
overtones and squeals can reference panting and flushing noises, the
burrowing of small animals and almost hollow seashell echoes. But
if ten or fifteen minutes could have been lobbed off the session,
there still would have been enough here to digest and admire.

Okura's
CD-R, on the other hand, could have been slightly lengthier without
destroying his mood. However, since it's a live session, perhaps the
time was all heor the organizersallotted. Strangely enough,
Okura's background is in techno-noise and jazz-rock as much as understated
On-kyo sounds. He has played frequently with locals such as
turntablist/guitarist Otomo Yoshihide and guitarist Taku Sugimoto
as well as electric post-rockers like American guitarist Jim O'Rourke.

On Solo, he too deals with silences, but they exist in between
the low tones he forces from his alto. Beginning with deep-throated
trills proclaimed at an andante pace, the stillness allows you to
hear key flapping and resonant breaths. Before turning to tongue slaps,
key pops and finger-flicking key percussion, his single notes constitute
themselves into musical phrases. Soon a repertory of different key
pops and what may be drumming on the side of the sax's body tube gets
to a point where the reports start to resemble the beats from a small
djembe or bata drum.

With a pronounced irregular vibrato, Okura spits more billowing timbres
into the sax's gooseneck, then after audibly clearing his throat and
respiring more air into his mouth, pushes it out, at this point transforming
the key-less plastic bass tube into a faux didjeridoo. As the tones
buzz, then dissolve into the silence, the billowing textures take
on a life of their own and vary as they follow the in and out motion
of his inhaling and exhaling. Circular breathing at this pointafter
pulling varied tones from the pipeOkura concludes with a wheezy,
accented tone and the odd puppy-like yelp.

To a greater or lesser degree, both these extensions of the saxophone
canon can be appreciatedby reed followers and by others interested
in futuristic improv.